


Nothing Lasts, so Let's all be Friends and Enjoy What's left before Death

by lildouglas



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU)
Genre: Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Peter Parker & Avengers Team - Freeform, Protective Avengers, Team as Family, title is named after a really good song
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 09:09:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12129177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lildouglas/pseuds/lildouglas
Summary: The nightmares were a part of the job. The cost of saving people, of living up to the responsibility his powers kept him accountable for, all of it was worth it, despite the dreams that would keep him up at night.But, then, when a frequent flier of his tortment pays him a visit outside of his dreams, he moves without thinking.In which Peter takes a bullet for an unkillable man.





	Nothing Lasts, so Let's all be Friends and Enjoy What's left before Death

Sometime early in the morning or rather really late into the night, Peter’s crusty brown eyes are fighting against the drowsiness of the late night’s work. His clothing clings to him with an unfamiliar sweat. His hands don't stop their shaking, not even when they grip ahold of his white shirt. In the dark, he gets caught, and he's angry, afraid, trapped. He tears it, and the shirt is in shreds.

His feet don't touch the ground. He climbs on the wall and flips on his light switch before lowering himself to his carpet. The monsters under his bed flee the moment the light shines, and Peter finally lets his shoulders drop a little bit.

There is no light shining in through his window. A cloud blocks the moon and its light. Heavy rain pours down, but Peter can't see it. He can hear it. It sounds like gun shots.

The clothing is too uncomfortable for his skin. He charges out from his room and into his restroom.

He reaches for the sink and all of its cold water before splashing it over his face. The heat lingers.

Peter lunges for the shower now. He drops himself inside the wash, but his skin is still burning.

The water gets in his eyes. Momentarily blinded, Peter lets the crust wash out of his eyes. It's relieving at first, but then his nightmare grabs his neck. Towels rub viciously at his face, and his eyes tear open despite the stinging. The stinging doesn't compare to the face.

He can't close his eyes. If he does, he sees him again.

The water is burning his eyes again, and he turns the shower off. The water continues to pour down his face. The water burns, and Peter realizes that he's crying.

The low wail escapes his shaking lips, and the only thing to quiet it is a wadded up towel he shoved in his mouth. He's breathing heavily in through his nose, and his head spins. He spits out the towel, retching.

His hands grasp the side of the toilet bowl. Red spills out of his mouth. The red reminds him, and he sees the eyes again. He sees scarred skin, blood, he sees a gun in the mouth of a man who is afraid.

Peter is sobbing.

This isn't the first time. And he knows this isn't the last.

Peter can't put his suit on. There's too much red, and it reminds him of the blood.

Peter stuffed the suit into his bag. He walks instead of web slinging.

School still doesn't start for an hour or two. He leaves the Avengers tower behind him, far far back so he can run to a place where he can breathe.

In the park he feels safe. The rain is pouring down still, and it helps ease the lingering heat that won't leave him. He still feels dirty. He still sees blood on his hands.

He runs to the creek. He’s washing his hands furiously, but he can't scrub off the red. It's staining him.

“...er…Eter….Peter!” Hands are touching him, and Peter is snapped away. The red is gone. Michelle is here, grabbing him. She's cold; she's blue. She's beautiful. She's clean.

“MJ, what’re you doing here?” He's breathless.

MJ tucks a strand of a perfect curl behind her ear. She leans in, grabbing his head. Her hands are like feathers against his neck, the same place the scarred hands touched him.

“Peter,” she says, holding him close. “You're okay.” She's gentle but strong, protecting him. “I got you.”

It takes a long time for Peter to calm down, but Michelle is patient.

“You know, you're really lucky I found you,” she said after an hour of silence. “There's some real weirdos around here.”

“Oh, yeah? And you're not one of them?” Peter teased, although he is extremely grateful it was her. “Sitting in a box under a bridge at unlawful time in the morning, telling riddles to anyone who tries to pass?”

She mushed her eyebrows together. “It's not like they're difficult riddles.”

Peter laughs then, and Michelle helps him stand. “We both could use some coffee,” she says, and thus they walk. She heads into an unknown part of town, which is uncommon for Peter since he's been everywhere in New York. Crime fighting really shows you the sights.

“Starbucks is that way,” Peter said, getting nervous about the shady neighborhood.

Michelle makes a raspberry sound. “We’re not going to Starbucks. I thought you were more classy than that, Parker.”

She slips inside the coffee shop, right at home. She strolls up to the counter. She orders herself a black coffee and a sugary frap for Peter, just how he likes it. They take them to-go. They walk to school.

“Can I see your drink?” She asked.

Peter takes a sip and hands it over. Michelle holds it and then reaches into her bag. She starts pouring a Monster until the cup is full again. She hands it back with a grin.

Peter mumbles a thank you. He begins to chug it, and soon enough it kicks in. His heart picks up a fast pace, and he feels like he’ll have a heart attack.

He goes through the rest of the day on autopilot. He moves like a robot.

His hand moves without him thinking about it. He scribbled down the notes on the board carelessly, completely missing the lines.

There's a picture suddenly, and he sees a man holding his heart in his hands. He sees those eyes again, but they're filled with pain and sorrow. The eyes are dead and dull, and Peter can't find anything in them.

He's pulled away from his nightmare by a bell. The day is over. Usually, he’d be out of his seat and already swinging through the city by now, but today he just sits and stares.

He shoved his notebook into his backpack absent-mindedly. When he goes to reach for his binder, his finger comes back to him covered in red.

His chest starts hitching again, and his heart burns with a fire. “Ugh, sorry, man,” a voice says, snagging Peter away from the blood. “My pen busted.”

He looks up at Ned, who is cleaning red ink off of his hand. “Pete, seriously, what time did you go to bed last night?”

Peter shrugged. He can't find any words to speak.

“Video games or… Yanno?” Ned made a “thwip” gesture with his hand.

Peter stood up slowly. “I don't know,” he replied meekly. “I keep seeing this… this man. He keeps me up at night.”

There's a sudden clatter, more gun shots in his ear, and Peter jumps to attention.

The teacher’s mouth is wide open. “Mr. Parker,” he gaped.

Peter panicked. “It's not what it looks like,” Ned started to defend, but the teacher already was shaking his head frantically.

He pushed his glasses up on his nose. “If you are going to engage in that type of thing, I advise you to use protection.” A rosy pink blush dusted the teacher’s cheeks. “So scandalous…” He escaped the classroom, flabbergasted.

Peter is relieved and mortified at the same exact time. The fear of people figuring out his identity has escaped him, but it is replaced with the embarrassment of wrong accusations.

“Peter…” Ned trailed off. “You're under the legal age of consent. How old is this man exactly?”

“I dunno how old—” His face is red. “No! Not like that. I don't know how to explain it.” He pictures him again. “He's in pain. He has this gigantic eyes, and they've seen so much. He just wants help. That's all he wants. He just… he wants someone to help.”

Before Ned can offer any words of encouragement, Peter is out the door.

An alarm is going off on his phone, one that he specifically set up to alert him of a threat to the tower. After he found out Mr. Stark doesn't alert him for certain threats, he made his own alerts, ones that he doesn't know about.

He's sprinting towards the tower. He slips in through his window, one that no normal civilian can reach. He slips inside discreetly. Through his bedroom, he creeps down the hallway.

He hears the steady sound of footsteps pattering down the hallway. There's a muffled sound of music playing, and he can hear the occasional laughter. He slowly crawls up the ceiling, creaking the door open. Sam is waltzing with his cat. Okay.

“Peter!” Sam exclaimed, dropping his cat. Snowball makes a run for the exit. “Hey, don't you usually have patrol after school?”

Peter lets his shoulders relax. His spidey sense is calm. “Not today. I got the feeling that something wasn't right here… Is everything okay?”

He cleared his voice. “Yeah, I'm good. Just, uh, practicing.”

Peter wasn't convinced. He set that alert up himself. He left for the lab.

The threat had been up here at some point, but his phone told him he made a move to the armory.

He scanned his ID and slipped into the lab. It was empty, but he was still on edge.

He heard the clatter of a coffee mug. “Ah, Peter, hey—Whoa! Chill. Just me.” Tony is chastising Dummy for knocking over his drink.

Peter is mad now. “What?” He rambles under his breath, fiddling with his scanner. Somehow he messed up his alert system. He throws it down on the desk and he goes to work on it.

Tony leaves him to it. He goes into the other room.

He can't find anything wrong with the scanner. He checks it again and again, and it still says the threat is with him in the lab.

His Spidey Sense goes haywire. Peter jumps out of his seat, and he throws open the door. Tony has his repulsor in his hands. His scanner beeps at him, telling him the threat is here. He follows Tony’s aim.

Oh God.

Peter doesn't think. Who has time for that? His head is blank. He jumps without thinking, and he crashes into the ground.

The last thing he hears is the repulsor firing.

The last thing he sees, before his eyes shut into complete darkness, is hauntingly familiar eyes, ones that look so dark and sick, but this time, those eyes are filled with the tiniest glimmer of hope.

 

 


End file.
